


Hurry, hurry, the rest can wait

by dulciscoeur



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Post-Heist, Rating May Change, drunk debbie misses lou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 19:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15978830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulciscoeur/pseuds/dulciscoeur
Summary: It’s not angst. (It is angst.)





	Hurry, hurry, the rest can wait

**Author's Note:**

> I traded a good night’s sleep for this fic and I still think it wasn’t worth it, but here it is anyways.

The night she finds out Lou’s in town didn’t bother to tell her, Debbie pours herself glass after glass of brandy with shaky hands and drinks until she can no longer feel the strain in her heart, an infrequent surrender to impulse she very rarely indulges in.

After the heist, Lou had left for California with the promise of coming to visit her some time. She never did, and Debbie never asked her to. Eight months had passed since that when just hours earlier, Tammy’s phone lit up on the table they met for dinner. Without meaning to, a mere reflex of her body, Debbie’s gaze flew to the device-- Lou’s name on the screen asking her if she was free. Tammy’s eyes had gone wide when she saw Debbie notice, but the weight of the news had already sunk deep into her heart with the force of a punch pushing through her chest and she didn’t bother to pretend she hadn't seen the message, nor had the strength to put on an ashamed façade at the intromission. Her friend had sighed in what could be pity, but not a word left her lips.

Miserable, Debbie scoffs at the memory. The violent stomach churns come after an extended delay, bending her body in half and dropping her to her knees with their brutal insistence. One of her hands holds her hair away, the other clutches the side of the toilet, nausea playing a wicked game of hide-and-seek— leaving for a second and then returning with a vengeance. Expensive alcohol be damned, she vomits more than that: painful information, resentment and betrayal. Her throat constricts again and again, sore, complaining about the crude strength of whatever is fighting to leave her body through there. The agony lasts for what seems like forever, and when the nausea finally subsides, though not completely, Debbie flushes the toilet with fumbling fingers, looking at the yellow-ish sour liquid she’s just expelled disappear along with some of her dignity.

Her head is pounding with exhaustion, sharp pain pressing against her eyes from the inside, bile burning her taste buds. Somehow, she manages to stand up on wobbly legs to brush her teeth. The reflexion in the mirror is that of a broken soul, the eyes that are staring her back strangely unfamiliar. She feels as though she has regressed in time, defying centuries of evolution to devolve into a creature that’s only capable of feeling the most basics of feelings— anger and hurt the protagonists. She washes her face with closed eyes, no longer tolerating the sad eyes and pathetic appearance.

Barely making it to the bed, she lies with her clothes, whole body weak. The ringing and pulsing in her temples accentuate when she grabs her phone turn off the alarm that usually wakes her up. There’s one unread message from Tammy. She taps on the notification. Bitterness folds into her current range of emotions when she sees the words “are you okay?” on the screen. The idea that Tammy may have meet with Lou after their own meeting was cut short because Debbie felt sick, understandably so, flashes in her mind. She’s unable to fight back the urge to call her, fingers moving on their own accord to press on the phone icon. She doesn’t really expect Tammy to pick up her call, and she doesn’t have a plan as to what to say; but when she does, the words are out of her mouth before her mind even registers what’s happened, making them both flinch.

“Does she miss me, Tammy? Does she think of me?”

It’s sad, really, the quiet desperation of her tone. There’s an intake of breath and then silence on the other side and Debbie’s words seem to linger in the air, raw pain emanating from every syllable whispered.

Lou’s voice comes from afar, worried, asking Tammy what happened, are her kids okay, taking Debbie by surprise. She startles at the raspy silkiness of the voice of the woman she misses the most.

Pain. It was nothing new but this time...

Debbie can’t _breathe._

It cuts off air and blood flow alike, her chest constricts under its force.

More silence, and then there’s the muffled sound of a conversation, but Debbie’s not listening anymore. She ends the call and closes her eyes tightly, forcing air into her lungs. She inhales deeply, holding her breath for five seconds and then releasing, trying to put together what just happened. She does that once, twice, and on the third time, the phone buzzes in her hand. She swallows hard, feeling the resistance in her swollen throat, and looks at the screen once more.

 _She’s on her way to your place_ , Tammy’s message reads.

Panic settles inside her, suddenly completely sober. She’s not sure she wants to face her. She’s not sure she can. But she gets up nonetheless, changes her clothes as fast as she can, washes her face once more, does the best she can to look presentable.

And waits.


End file.
